Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Lear. It were a delicate stratagem to shoo
Lear. A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe,
Lear. And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes,
Lear. Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
Lear. Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. Gent.
Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir.
Gent. Your most deere Daughter ———
Lear. Lear.
Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen
Lear. The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well,
Lear. You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons,
Lear. I am cut to'th' Braines.
Gent. You shall haue any thing.
Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe?
Lear. Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt
Lear. To vse his eyes for Garden water‐pots. I wil die brauely,
Lear. Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: